Mark's Morning Activities
by Makingstuffup
Summary: What Mark does while hogging the bathroom. Extremely short. Extended-will now detail each bohemian's odd obsession
1. The Tango Marky

Summary: Mark's morning activities

A/N: Pay back

Disclaimer: I own nothing of Rent except a crappy t-shirt I bought in NY.

Mark had always been a morning person. Roger had never been a morning person. Perhaps tea had far more sugar in it than coffee. For whatever reason, Mark often found himself up and about, walking around the loft during the ungodly hours of early morning. Roger's snores could always be heard from his room, his body hanging off his bed at some odd angle and a stream of drool hanging from his mouth.

Mark would take advantage of the spare time in the morning to enjoy utterly hogging the bathroom. Mark, unlike Roger, was a clean person. He wasn't obsessive compulsive, but like feeling at least sanitary. Taking his time, Mark would splash water onto his face, then brush and floss his teeth, then comb and style his hair, and basically play around with the mirror. For someone who enjoyed hiding behind the camera, Mark _loved_ looking at himself in the mirror. He would prance around, pull absurd facial expressions, and impersonate his friends. It was during an extremely dramatic, one sided version of a tango, in which Mark had pulled his arms up in a salsa position and cocked his head back that Roger burst into the bathroom far too early in the morning.

"Move! I gotta pee!-um, Mark, what are you doing?"

"Er…"

**short absurdity**


	2. The Voyages of the Rockstar Davis

**Roger's Nightly Rituals**

The TV in the loft received one channel free from electrical snow and one channel only. Luckily, it was the one channel Roger could not live with out.

Every night as 11:00 rolled around Roger made sure Mark was yawning and on his way to bed. It wasn't too hard, their personal natures dictated their sleeping habits and respective 'bed times' and Mark normally dozed off by 11:15. Tip toeing, the rock star would peer in filmmaker's room and carefully listen to his friend's rhythmic breathing. Once satisfied Mark was well entrenched in Dreamland, Roger made his way, ever so silently back to the couch.

Desperately, he waited. 11:25…11:27…11:29! He switched on the pawn shop television and quickly quieted the sound, scooting closer to the screen so he could hear every bar of the opening song.

"These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Our mission: to seek out…" Roger moved his lips along with narration, loving every second. He flounced up and down in excitement as the music reached a crescendo. "To boldly go where no man has gone before! Do Doooo Doo Do Do Do DO! Do do do do DO do do do do dooo!"

Every mission, every road block, every alien life force the uniform-wearing, taser-bearing, teleporting crew members faced, Roger followed religiously. He was there for every fight with the Borg, every time Scotty beamed someone up, he cheered when romances ignited and cried when Doctor realized he was an Android and that that was not good enough. Three weeks were spent forcing his fingers to perform the "Live long and prosper" sign on command.

As the episode progressed Roger subconsciously made his way from sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the set, to sprawling on the couch, to jumping up and down on the couch, to laying on his stomach, hands propping up his head, staring rapturously up at his beloved show. Steadily the volume rose.

As luck would have it, Mark had not been having a good night. Tossing and turning, he could not fall asleep. Faceless characters repeatedly ruining his screenplays continuously ran through his rambling mind. Ready to fight back against the over productivity of his brain, Mark stumbled out of his room, jamming on his glasses as Roger gave a particularly mournful sob. Worried at what might have happened, Mark scurried over to his friend, realizing as he did so, the enraptured cast of Roger's gaze.

"Stupid Borg! He didn't deserve that you jack asses! Take your freaky machinery and jam it up your-"

"Nice entertainment Rog. I didn't know you had such strong feelings for Piccard."

"Why don't you boldly go back to bed?"

A/N: I realize these particular circumstances in Star Trek did not air in the specific time period, but give me a break; I didn't feel like researching the episode plots of the late 80s. More short absurdity.


	3. Mucho Snaps for the Anarchist

**Collins' Mid-day Meetings**

"The rain falls down

Upon the ground

It all falls down.

Splish-splash."

An eruption of snaps filled the dark room.

"That's cool man. Yeah, I hear you," intoned Collins, clad in his customary black skull cap, but having swapped his rugged wear for a chic uniform of black.

The speaker stepped down from the lighted stage and rejoined his friends among the many poufs and squashy couches. Collins rose and made his way to the performance space, stumbling slightly from not being able to see through his dark sunglasses. His many admirers failed to notice as a hush swept through the small coffee house.

Originally, he had sung this among his other friends, but this time, it was deeper and came more from the fathomless soul of human kind. A lank young man in the corner began a pattering of his drum.

"I'm thwarted by a

Metaphysic puzzle

And I'm sick of grading papers

That I know.

I'm shouting in my sleep

I need a muzzle,"

With the end of each line the drummer banged upon his instrument dramatically. Enthralled with the Poet Master's speech, few noticed as a young Hispanic musician entered, intending to respond to an add looking for a new drummer. Now hearing the frantic, uncoordinated beating of sound, the Latino knew why, but the unpleasant clangs were off-set by a much more gentle and soulful voice.

"Tumbleweeds

Prairie dogs

Yeah."

Again the explosion of snaps filled the room, this time accompanied by the cheers of the visitor.

"YAY! Go Collins! Whoooo!"

Many audience members viewed the outsider disdainfully, but the performer shot his head up to see his partner leaping gleefully in the back, a maniac grin upon her face.

"Thanks Angel," he murmured into the microphone before setting off to whisk her off her feet.


	4. Joanne's Life in the Fast Lane

**Joanne's Fast Lunch Breaks**

"I need that folder on my desk by Monday!" Joanne called over her shoulder to a co-worker as she hurried out of the office.

Passing through the shining revolving door, Joanne let herself be caught by the quickly moving sea of people. She liked doing things quickly. Her entire life was managed with efficient promptness so as not to slow her down. She loved New York because of the fast moving life style. Always on the go. Still, at times, moving at New York speed was not enough.

Joanne flagged a cab down and hopped inside. The address was rattled off by memory. Giddy, she'd bounce around, anxious to get there, adrenaline already beginning to surge through her blood stream.

The atmosphere of a NASCAR racing track was unforgettable. Smells and noises intermingled while the sights blurred together. Senses went on overload so that only impressions of things were made, rapid and successive images: spilt Coke, burning rubber, axle grease, gooey nachos, sweat… Overall was the feeling of anticipation, excitement. Joanne was ready to explode. This was the perfect release.

Here, Joanne could let loose. No one recognized her. She had swapped her business suit for jeans and a t-shirt. Dark sunglasses reflected the mid-day sun. The cars spewed out around the track and the roar of the crowd fought with the whine of the engines. Joanne screamed, pumping her fist in the air and hopping up and down on the bleachers.

Vendors made their way through the stands. T-shirts, souvenir cups and bags of popcorn were never in short supply. Joanne paid the nearest one little attention as the cars raced around the corner on the third lap.

"Whew! GOOOOOOOOOO! AAAaaaaah!" Joanne yelled senselessly.

"Jo?"

"YEAH!"

"Jo!"

"GOOOO! WHEEEEW!!!"

"JO!"

Joanne whirled around. There was Maureen standing up to her ankles in discarded soda cups and hamburger wrappers, trying to sell caps with NASCAR emblazoned on them.

"hi…"


	5. Maureen's Forbidden Fruit

**Maureen's Forbidden Fruit**

Maureen was the ideal anti-establishment revolutionary protesting vegetarian. She abstained from the Easter ham and brought her own tofurkey to Thanksgiving. Her wallet contained membership cards to PETA, WWF and Green Peace. In junior high school she served a week in detention for scrawling "Murderer" across the science teacher's blackboard at the start of a frog dissection. "Animal lover" did not even begin to describe Maureen's position. It was then perfectly understandable that as Maureen stomped her way home from an audition she would sneer at the jauntily painted McDonald's, her lip curling in a growl.

It would surprise many to know however, that Maureen's aversion to the pinnacle of the fast-food industry did not stem from self-righteous beliefs, but barely suppressed temptation.

Maureen first came in close contact with the Golden Arches not much more than a week after she moved out of the loft. In the blocks between Broadway and Joanne's apartment there were three separate establishments. That first time Maureen walked home starving after a grueling dance audition dreaming of the Pita sandwich she would eat when she got home. Her stomach grumbled rebelliously. She hadn't been paying attention; if she had, it wouldn't have caught her so off guard. The sweet pungent scent of fried food hit her with all the force of a battering ram. Maureen stumbled, her mouth watering for a double bacon cheeseburger. Shocked and appalled with herself Maureen forged onward, forcibly driving thoughts of juicy hamburger meat from her mind.

She held this inner battle several times a week for months. Though her path always drew her next to the tantalizing McDonald's which would tease her with its scent, she would not let her resolve fade.

Until one day…

Colorful banners announced the arrival of a new addition to the dangerous menu. Somehow the scent wafting out the doors was thicker and sweeter than ever. Maureen felt like she was melting into a puddle on the sidewalk.

No! She could do this!

Maureen collected herself and pushed onward. She expected to feel a surge of relief or pride. Shouldn't she be glad she had stuck to her principles? Instead all she felt was remorse as if she were a toddler being refused her candy.

She saw the second McDonald's ahead. No longer trusting her resolve Maureen dodged across the cross walk and jogged down the road, willfully ignoring the glorious delight lurking on the other side of the street. Unfortunately she then ran head-on into the third McDonald's.

Maureen succumbed. She couldn't hold out any longer. Surely nobody would care or even notice if she indulged just once? Maureen pranced over to the register and promptly ordered several meals.

It wasn't until she was halfway through devouring her third quarter-pounder that she recognized the familiar voice of Roger Davis.

"Mmm-Dollar Menu…" she heard mumbled in between loud slurps on a milkshake.

Spinning around she came face to face with the lens of Mark's camera.

"Smile! You're on Candid Camera!" he exclaimed.

A/N: So I haven't written anything in forever, but I couldn't sleep so I updated. Here ya go.


End file.
